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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29662497">2021 Secret Cupid</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/theberrygirl14/pseuds/theberrygirl14'>theberrygirl14</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Arthur Morgan Has Tuberculosis, Bounty Hunters, F/M, I'm so sorry, Mentions of Sex, Sickness, Tumblr Prompt, mentions of guns</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:14:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,290</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29662497</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/theberrygirl14/pseuds/theberrygirl14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur Morgan knows he is going to die. He's told himself 1,000 times over, but the fact still hasn't sunk in. When a bounty hunter from his past shows up unexpectedly, Arthur realizes that there's so much more he should have done with his life and just because time is up for him doesn't mean he can't help those around him. </p>
<p>My gift for the 2021 Secret Cupid Tumblr prompt!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arthur Morgan &amp; Original Female Character(s), Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>2021 Secret Cupid</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was a gift on Tumblr which you are welcome to follow me on at Journal-Of-An-Outlaw</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Arthur leaned up against a brick wall, enjoying the shade on the hot summer day at the park in Saint Denis. Droves of people swirled around him, mingling and mixing together with the same ebb and flow of a river moving leisurely around a rock. To be honest Arthur enjoyed the indirect attention. It allowed him to watch the people fret over little details of their day that seemed oh so important in the moment but tomorrow would be forgotten. The colors of their dresses. Who was coming to dinner. Where they should vacation next. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blah, blah blah. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Talk was a worthless currency to a walking dead man. It didn’t matter. But stealing these little moments away drowned out the other words that constantly rang in his ears. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Get yourself somewhere warm and dry. Progressive disease. Coughing. Blood. I’m so sorry, son. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulled out a cigarette and held the lit match a few inches away, frozen between two impossible choices. Arthur knew he had no time left, that much the good doctor made clear. Did he spend his days burning the candle at both ends because there was an end in sight? Or did he cautiously move forward, save any and all strength he had to help the gang and those living longer than him?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he took too long to decide. The match burned out and he dropped it and the cigarette both to the ground and crushed them with his boots out of habit. It seemed all his choices were made for him lately. He had lost his control. But that didn’t matter anymore. He knew that now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Need a light?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The gentle voice startled Arthur. A woman about his age moved along the wall, resting in the same pose and staring out into the crowd. The clothes were new, but that face he would recognize anywhere. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lydia Jacobs. I’ll be damned.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good to see you too, Morgan. Been too long,” her smile stretched wide and Arthur couldn't help but give one back as her brown eyes crinkled at the sides just like they always had. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The pair met years ago but their time together was brief. Alone and desperate, she cornered Dutch in a bar begging for a safe place to lay her head for awhile, not knowing what she was getting herself into. Dutch had a soft spot for women in need. He liked to play the savior. He brought Lydia back to the camp he and Arthur shared and watched the two connect instantly. Lydia was no gun slinger, in fact she had been left behind as bait for another group for being too posh, but over the weeks learned enough to defend herself if needed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>An expensive perfume wafted Arthur’s way with hints of jasmine and vanilla. He breathed in the pleasant scent and tried to remember if it was what she used to wear all those years ago but he couldn't quite recall the specific notes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s been, what, nearly ten years since I saw you? What are you doing here?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m actually hunting a bounty. I know, I know, strange to hear,” she laughed at his bewildered expression. “But it’s a good income and I get to leave the city behind.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Though you’d be married, living </span>
  <em>
    <span>in </span>
  </em>
  <span>the city by now.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah, that wasn’t the life for me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur watched her curiously, her eyes darting away at her words to look at anything but him. His own slanted but he was distracted as she scratched the back of her neck, her gloves catching his attention. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You kept those old things?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hesitantly reached out for the white leather, time and use wearing them down to look much less like the fine things he purchased when he thought himself in love. Lydia smiled and held her hands out to admire them. Arthur was twenty-seven when he found the gloves and knew right away the woman warming his bed back at camp had to have them. A rose pattern etched across the backs made them unique, he had never seen anything like it. She squealed at the gift. But that hadn’t kept her from leaving the next week when the time came. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Watching her now Arthur was reminded that Lydia’s hands were no longer soft and delicate. That the skin was probably hardened from years of gun fights and horse reins. He never forgot what they got up to when the roughest thing she touched was his bed sheets in the throes of something a bit more reckless. Those memories made him blush and he coughed to hide his deepening cheeks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“‘Course I kept them. One of my most prized possessions,” her words broke Arthur or his reprieve and brought him back to the present.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Arthur opened his mouth a cough burned his throat, his question dying on his tongue as he hacked in pain. He turned in embarrassment and shame, the disease inside of him bursting at the surface no matter how hard he fought to keep it contained and in control. Lydia’s brow pulled together in concern but he waved her off with a gruff. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“‘M fine,” Arthur wheezed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t sound it.” Her response was flat and sarcastic. “We should move somewhere else, there are too many eyes here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Together they made their way away from the midday crowd gathered for picnics and social gossiping in the town park and towards the outskirts of Saint Denis, passing the tailors before crossing the street and continuing on. Lydia was headed towards the garden house when Arthur grabbed her arm to stop, needing to lean against a fence for support as he began coughing again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Arthur, have you seen a doctor?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The words were meant innocently enough but they sent panic burning below Arthur’s skin. He gripped absentmindedly at his ribs, half wishing he could either rip out the infested organs pumping life into his failing body or that anyone listening would answer his prayer. He didn’t want to die. The thought terrified him. But even he knew his bed was made and it was time to lie in it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I fell,” he spoke softly, guilt and pride not allowing his voice to carry far beyond his companion. “Down some street by the docks and a fella carried me to the doctor. Felt like a horse stepped on my chest.” For a moment the sunlight reflected off Lydia’s sweet brown eyes and her dark skin and Arthur was lost in the beauty that wasn’t tainted by his bad decisions. “He said it’s, uh, tuberculosis.” Lydia tried to control the sharp inhale to hide her emotions. “All those bad deeds finally caught up to me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Arthur,” sympathy laced her words. “You know that ain’t fair. You put a lot of good out into this world.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did I?” The laugh barely passed his lips. “The view from here is…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dismal. Petrifying. Bleak. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We all have a limited time on this earth. I know things have always felt a bit out of your control but what you did </span>
  <em>
    <span>mattered.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Arthur snorted half-heartedly. “I know I can’t change your mind in one conversation. I won’t try. But please, know that you saved me. I am living proof that you did something good.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ms. Jacobs, no offense but you’re hunting bounties for a living. That ain’t what I’d call -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>happy, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and that is what matters most. I owe that to you. Spent my whole life doing what I love and I don’t regret it for a second. Which does bring me to why I’m here,” Lydia laughed as she pulled a folded up paper out of her pocket. “I’m hunting a bounty who’s, well, you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur took the poster and examined the drawing. “Could have made it something more flattering. Doesn’t even look like me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Especially not now.” Lydia meant the words as a joke, but silently cursed as she froze.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur Morgan spent most of his life running. After thirty-five years he was finally slowing down. The bags beneath his eyes were dark and his cheeks hollowed. He didn’t just look tired, he looked…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” Arthur sounded dejected. “At least I know you’ll use the money well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not bringing you in, cowboy. I just came to warn you.” His eyebrows raised at her words. “Not only do we have a history, Arthur, but now it’s not...I won’t put a sick man in jail.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At least she didn’t dance around the subject. Arthur didn’t want to hide behind the fact that TB was a disease nearly no one survived. He knew the odds. Not only did the thought of ceasing to exist send terror through him but he worried about those he was leaving behind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Would John and Abigail ever have a home? Would Jack grow up like his father? Would Molly ever leave Dutch’s side?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His mentor and brother had been...different of late. Aggressive. Rash. Frightened. Arthur would never admit to anyone the flashes he saw in Dutch’s eyes when a decision came down to the wire but his heart recognized what it was. At first he ignored it. They were simply the emotions brought about by the decay of time and a friendship that passed every test they had hurled at them, nothing more. But more and more Arthur’s conscience would not allow the debate to happen; his words lashing out before he could think through the consequences of berating Dutch alone or in front of others and often had to hear how much he betrayed him by speaking up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subconsciously Arthur pushed a thumb across his palm to distract himself from the tightening of his throat and the tension behind his eyes. In truth he was terrified. There was no use fighting, but that didn’t take away his instinct to try. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not sick, Lydia. Dying.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How do you feel?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gently she took one of his hands in her own as they stood against the fence on the outskirts of the city. Life buzzed all around them; kids playing games, animals eating grass, adults doing chores. The mundane tasks made Arthur want to shake these people awake. Didn’t they know there was only so much time on this earth? Why were they wasting it hanging up clothes? That didn’t matter, none of it did. They should be running away, taking those they loved with them, and ensuring they prospered in happiness and love. Not money or things. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Doesn’t matter how I feel. Just have to keep...keep…” His words cut off with another cough. Lydia’s heart broke for the man she once loved and fought back tears of her own, the shuddering gasps of Arthur’s labored breathing shattering the illusion she had built up from her memories. This man had no fight left in him. Not for himself. “I got people to take care of.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lydia nodded sympathetically, watching his resolve harden. Arthur pulled his shoulders back and pushed off the fence to stand tall once again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ll do it Arthur, I’m sure of it. They’ll be okay,” something caught Arthur’s eye over Lydia’s shoulder as she spoke and he tried to hide the flash of recognition on his face. “Someone you know?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, a friend. Lydia, I should…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course.” She glanced back to see a dark skinned man with two horses approaching. He wore a blue shirt and an apprehensive look. “Just know if you need me for anything Arthur, I’m only a letter away. If there’s anything I can do, anyone I can look after, if you need a place to run away to, please just…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her words trailed off with the realization this would be the last time she would see him in this life. Arthur was always a figure in the back of her mind who came to fruition every now and then. A reminder that the cards she was dealt didn’t have to be her only ones. And now, to know he was dying in such an awful way, it took everything she had not to break down into tears. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry I couldn't help with that bounty, real shame he was gone before you got there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Arthur,” she whispered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he waved a hand at her tone. “I’m nothing anymore. We both know I wouldn’t survive the way the world is going, seems I finally learned that myself. Just...promise me something, will you?” His blue eyes shimmered with life and Lydia found herself nodding right away, desperate to give this man’s last wish life. “Don’t, don’t waste what you have. People will try and tell you what they want from you, but it don’t matter. All of this is only worth it because you get to enjoy it for so long, so go out and do what matters and don’t listen to what other people want. In the end you’re the only one who shows up so just...do what matters to you. Whether it’s hunting bounties or taking care of someone or...I don’t know, picking berries or something. Leave your mark.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lydia couldn’t tell if it was the words of a wisened dying man or something she had been needing to hear but she felt changed. Her eyes followed as they rode away and off into the swamps, a silent goodbye with the tip of his hat the last sight of her friend. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How could one interaction affect her so deeply? Did approaching death give him an insight to not only what brings true happiness but what was wasted time? Did he know she would be there that day?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One day, Lydia knew she would ask him. But for now she would take what he said to heart and try to live alongside the memory of someone history would forget.</span>
</p>
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